Just passing through the park, we encounter an odd Yellowstone tradition.

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It had been a long day on the road for John and me. We had started in Grand
Teton National Park, driven up the spine of the northern Rockies, and were in
Yellowstone National Park, where most driving days are long anyway. This was
August 25th, you see, and Yellowstone is the Ultimate Land of the RV. Travel
on its winding mountain roads averages about 13 m.p.h. in the summer.

Such was our day, with our destination Butte, Montana, that,
despite all the beauty and wonder in Yellowstone, we were just passing
through. Frankly, all we wanted was a bathroom and a sandwich, in that order,
so when we pulled into Grants Village we were moving with that special sense
of urgency which can come only from biological need.

We sped through the store and into the men's room, where we were
soon side-by-side at the urinals. I had been so focused on getting there that,
once there, my mind began to relax, and then an odd thought occurred to me:
Did I see Santa Claus out there?

I gave this some more thought, and then I remembered Christmas
music. And people dressed as elves. And lights. I feared an LSD flashback. I
turned to John, not sure how to phrase my question.

"Um, John "

But he was already laughing. "Yes," he said, "you
did see Santa Claus out there."

We emerged from the bathroom cautiously. People were on ladders,
hanging tinsel around the stuffed-animal display. I approached a woman at a
cash register -- she was wearing an elf hat and a "Noel" sweatshirt
-- and asked, "What's with all the Christmas stuff?"

She explained that on August 25th of some bygone year, it had
snowed some crazy amount like two feet, and people got stuck at the
Yellowstone Lodge. So they decided to get out all the Christmas stuff and have
a party, thus creating a tradition.

I should take a moment here to admit that after this experience,
a Yellowstone official explained to me that the snowstorm never happened.
Apparently the whole thing started in the late 1930s when the park's employees
started having an end-of-season party called Savage Days -- "savage"
being a nickname for the employees. In the late '40s, the park asked a group
of Christians to take over Savage Days and clean it up a bit -- hence,
Christmas in August.

When John and I were there, they were planning a pageant and
putting trees up in the hotels, and employees were exchanging gifts. Santa
would be greeting kids later and asking them what they wanted for Christmas --
a special thrill, no doubt, for parents in the middle of spending their life
savings on a trip for the whole clan to Yellowstone. ("Santa, I want one
of those $1,200 hand-carved wolves!")

Not everybody, I should point out, was in the Christmas spirit
that day. We asked our waiter, Steve from Michigan, if he was going to the
Christmas party, and he said, "Shit, no -- can't even spike the
punch." Steve was actually wearing an "Employee of the Month"
pin, so when he gave us free refills on our drinks, John said, "That must
be why you're the Employee of the Month." Steve's response: a loud, long
ass-kissing noise followed by "That's how you get to be Employee of the
Month."

Such sarcasm, from a guy who said he'd rather be a mechanic in
Knoxville, was entertaining but odd, cast as it was against a backdrop of
party preparations and other displays of joy to the world.

When we went to settle up at the counter, we were greeted by Sis,
a chubby, high-pitched woman who said she was from "BO-mawnt,"
Texas. As she rang us up, a ranger approached, and Sis called out, "Hey,
Critter -- hahr yew?" So now we're talking with Critter and Sis.

Critter had a real blurry picture of a bear to show Sis, and Sis
squealed, "Say, Critter, have you seen mah sawks?" She whipped her
leg up onto the counter, and she had on these green-and-red, knee-length
Christmas socks, with little holiday figures on them: candy canes, reindeer,
etc. I stole a glance at John, and I could see he was barely suppressing
laughter, not to mention his flight instinct.

Then Critter reached down and touched a little pouch on one side
of Sis' sock, and the thing started to play music!

"What have you got in thar?" the astonished Critter
cried.

"It plays music," Sis drawled back.

Critter, leaning closer: "Mah gawd, I kin hear it!"

Sis, with a cackling laugh: "Yep, it plays eight sawngs!
This'n here's 'Santa Claus is Comin' to Town.' If you push the little
reindeer, it plays 'Jingle Bells.'"

Critter: "Well, ah'll be!"

By this time, John and I were dashing through the fake snow,
making our merry way the hell out of there. Nothing against Christmas, of
course, but these days we get plenty of it in the winter -- for that matter,
in the fall. To see it in August was a little too much, especially when a
person named Critter is pushing buttons on the clothing of a person named Sis
and the Employee of the Month would rather be working on cars somewhere else.
We hitched up our sleigh and drove like the wind for the Montana border.